


The Hits Keep Coming

by AnOddSock



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angel possession is rapey too when it's not consensual so that's the place this fic is starting from, Crack Treated Seriously, Crack and Angst, Double Penetration, Grace Sex, It Gets Worse Before It Gets Better, Kinktober, Kinktober 2018, M/M, Magical Healing Cock, Michael is in Dean and causes him to experience certain... things so that's rapey, Multi, Multiple Orgasms, Sensory Overload, Sorry Not Sorry, Threesome - M/M/M, angel possession
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-29
Updated: 2018-10-29
Packaged: 2019-08-09 17:07:24
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,846
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16453952
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AnOddSock/pseuds/AnOddSock
Summary: **This fic contains references to thing happening in season 14** spoilers below!!Michael found a way to subdue Dean that no-one expected. And even when he vacates the premises, Dean's body doesn't know it's over.Team Free Will 2.0 are on the case to find a cure. Dean is in a whole different dimension of sensation.





	The Hits Keep Coming

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Coconutice22](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Coconutice22/gifts).



> Kinktober!
> 
> 29\. Glory hole | **Double (Or more) Penetration** | ~~Sleepy Sex | Massage~~
> 
>  
> 
> This one wasn't a prompt but came about after brief but illuminating exchange of ideas with the wonderful perfackles/coconutice22. It was just going to be destiel but the only way I could fit it in for Kinktober was for the double penetration pick, so you get twice as much dick for your dollar
> 
> Who's ready for some crack fic?!

If there was one thing Dean knew it was that he wouldn't give in easily. And he didn't. He really didn't. All through Michael's blinding attempts at pain and distraction, he held on, held out.

Pain was nothing, pain came and went and left you a little hollow but it didn't last. He knew pain.

He could see through the tricks and lies Michael tried to weave about him, not solid or true enough to mean anything.

Dean was stronger than all that. In the end it wasn't so much that he gave in as it was he was taken over.

 

Pleasure had a way of doing that.

 

Old Mikey worked it out entirely by accident, a brief encounter with a pretty little thing in a bar and the dick attached to the meat suit that was Dean stood straight to attention.

Afterwards, later, he finally noticed how quiet Dean had been as he’d experimented and played around with the best way to get rid of the straining erection.

 

Dean had lost there and then and he didn't even know it.

 

The buzzing started quietly the next day, background thrum of zinging nerves and jolts of sensation barely a whisper.

But it grew.

Oh how it grew.

 

And Dean buckled under the onslaught.

 

Watching from inside his mind he knew his physical body wasn't reacting at all, but it felt like a full body orgasm and it steam rolled him.

He cried out in bliss and lost all train of thought.

 

It went on, thundering and climbing and dipping, only to rise again and sweep all past pleasure into insignificance. Coming down from the high of it he saw more blood on his hands, more bodies littering the floor.

 

Death. Destruction. Madness. And he'd not even noticed. Not even protested.

 

He choked at it, sickened. But Michael had him, pinned like a fly to a board with merely a thought he could make Dean squirm and waver and then flick him away into the vast white realms of pleasure.

 

And he never even had to bring Dean down, if he didn't want to.

 

By the end Dean thought he might go mad with it. By the end, his soul was experiencing wild sensation and firework explosions of fulfilled desire in unceasing undulations.

 

He cried, he begged, he pleaded. Wonderfully, woefully desperate.

Michael would grin. Turn him aside and warmth would bloom and he'd scream again before long.

 

_No more no more make it stop let it stop_

 

He convulsed with climax hour after hour. He was smothered, wailing, a tiny sliver of a man bowing under the onslaught.

 

Michael could hold him at the edge of need, keep him careening along the top of the crest for as long as he desired. Dean lost all sense of anything outside of his own body, his own mind.

 

Time has no meaning when you're flying. Time doesn't exist when the air is your lover. Time becomes nothing, when you can't stop coming.

 

Michael was working, he knew this, he saw flashes of vampire teeth and blood and glowing blue grace but it paled to background noise as he wept in ecstasy.

 

He didn't want it, didn't need it, but he succumbed.

 

He tumbled down the rabbit hole of _lost lost lost my mind is lost_ and couldn't begin to fathom not being overwhelmed by a whole universe worth of stars and fire.

 

* * *

 

 

When the day came that he was alone again inside his body he trembled with the last dregs of climax, he couldn't remember anything, he didn't know where he was. He just knew it was over, and there was space to breathe again.

Except, _except_ , it was only just beginning.

 

“Dean, is it you?”

He nodded, and lifted a hand, and the coat moved - weight dragging down his arm, he felt it, felt the sensation and it sent a jolt straight to his cock.

“Yeah, Sammy, it's me.”

He removed the hat and the fibres brushed his face and it felt like fingernails on his skin.

“He's gone.”

He may have been gone, but he hadn't left Dean unmarred.

Sam gripped him tight, and he gasped, and Sam thought it was in pain. He pulled back and held Dean lighter but that wasn't better, he still felt it, all of it, and his body grew warm and the tip of his cock grew wet.

 

By the time they reached the Impala, his Baby all sleek and black and shiny, his legs could barely hold him up.

He slumped in the passenger seat and the firm press of leather seats against his ass and legs made his breathing go ragged.

 

Once the car turned on he was a goner, the engine so big and powerful and rocking. His cock twitched one, twice, and he bit down on his fist to stifle the cry of his orgasm.

“Dean?”

Mary touched his shoulder, her hand grazing the skin of his neck like pinpricks of flame and he flinched.

“‘M'okay, don't touch.” he gasped.

So they didn't.

 

It didn't help.

 

The car ride was agony, his cock incapable of recovering quickly enough it just left him swinging through over sensitization. He sobbed quietly, body so far past pleasure he didn't know how to cope.

Sam knew, he saw, his eyes on Dean as often as they were on the road, but Dean had no idea if he understood, or how they could fix it.

Whatever Michael had done to turn his nerves hypersensitive, with a direct line to his cock and his prostate, he didn't want to feel a second more of it.

But you never get what you want.

 

* * *

 

“Dean!”

He held up a hand to stop Cas from enveloping him in an embrace.

“He’s… he’s struggling with being touched.” Sam explained.

“You’re in pain?” Cas asked.

He nodded dumbly. It might as well be, it had wrung him out and left him desperate, barely able to stand.

Every jolt of every step was the precursor to pleasure, foreplay and fondling touch just from clothes on his skin and the swinging of his limbs.

 

And thousand tiny kisses from a thousand angry birds each pecking to within an inch of his life.

 

“I don’t… I don’t understand why it feels like this.” he looked at Sam for help, for reassurance.

“It’s just going to take some time, it’s a lot Dean, give it time.”

He knew it was a lie, an empty promise. None of them knew anything.

His body didn't even know which way was up, or whether to follow gravity, or his aching angry cock.

 

* * *

 

Time didn’t help.

He slept and he woke with a racing heart and his cock throbbing.

 

Cas brought him coffee in bed and the touch of the heat through the mug and Cas’s fingers brushing his sent him careening over the edge and he screamed and arched his back, pulsing into his briefs.

He writhed and gasped, the rub of the sheets on his arms too loud, too much.

 

Cas gripped his shoulders, shouting his name and he couldn’t even respond.

 

His cock rubbed on the soft material of his clothes and it was razors blades of sensation.

 

When he came back to himself, groaning under the onslaught, he pushed away from Cas. Gasping and struggling, every movement a new breath stealing jolt, he stumbled over and crouched in the corner. Solid walls, solid floor, no moving, something to press against and hold steady.

 

He wasn’t steady, not even close.

 

His heart beat like a kick drum and his entire body was alight.

“Dean, we’re here we’re going to fix this.” Cas said, crouching three feet away from him, the tinder of his voice a rumble of low arousal in Dean’s veins.

“Please, you gotta, I can’t.”

 

Cas left.

Sam arrived and took his pulse at one point he was aware of that.

Mary sat and played soft rock music and hummed along and he wept.

Bobby tried to get him to his feet and he punched him before doubling over and gasping, trying to hold back an orgasm.

His second orgasm of the day and it probably wasn’t even noon.

 

Like holding back the tide it was impossible and he crested the waves of the worst surf in the world and floundered along the frothy sea.

 

Cas reappeared. Talking, asking. He nodded and shook his head in response at random and moaned at the feel of the air past his lips.

“Do you want to sleep?”

“ _Please_.”

The touch to his forehead was the last thing he knew.

 

* * *

 

Slowly he learned how to make things marginally more bearable.

No clothes.

No touch.

Naked and alone he spent his days lying on the cold hard floor of his room, focusing on the only sensation he had, lungs filling and emptying, the movement still sent waves of pleasure crashing through his body but it was the only thing.

 

One thing was better than many.

 

He was losing weight he knew, but the flavour of food and the sensation of warmth and fullness was beyond what he could live with.

 

He wasn’t seventeen anymore and his cock, try as it might, couldn’t live up to the amount of stimulation his body experienced.

 

It was like receiving blow job after blow job with no time to rest or recover, just fuck and fuck, with no respite.

 

It was no longer pleasure, it was agony. His nerves were on fire. The fire consumed him.

 

Alone, in the dark, with only his breathing, was the best rest he could get.

 

* * *

  
“This isn't pain Cas, he isn't in pain, healing isn't going to fix anything.”

“What else do you suggest we do? We've tried everything else we can think of to bring him back to himself and nothing is working!”

“He's over-sensitive, that's all, we need to get his body to calm down.”

“Meditation and herbal tea isn't going to cut it.”

“That's not what i was suggesting.”

“Then what were you suggesting?”

“I don't know! Alright! I don't know!” Sam yelled and pounded the wall in frustration.

Dean felt the vibrations in his skull drawing him up and out and begging to the surface of his mind. He moaned.

“Dean, please, can you tell us what you need?” Cas leaned over him, not touching, just there.

He didn't know what to say, he needed to come, he wanted to come, it's all he wanted… second after second it's all his body could tell him. There was stimulation and there was release, and then it started again and it was all _wrong_ nothing should feel like this he knew that, but it did.

“Make it stop, please.” speaking was such a labour, so much energy.

“We don’t know how Dean.” Sam said, heavy and low.

“Touch me, just touch me.”

“Dean—”

_“Please!”_

He didn’t care anymore, anything, anything was better than this. He was going to feel it anyway, so couldn’t it be at someone else’s hands? Someone he trusted?

Cas kissed him then, lips pressed to his in furious desperation and Dean gasped. It tingled, so… new. So alive, so much more _real_.

A tongue slipped into his mouth and he met it with his own and it was like singing, like breathing, it was drowning out everything else, it was so tangible. He surged up to grip Cas’s face and his hands met real flesh, real feeling and the burning seemed to lessen.

“More,” he growled.

Cas placed a hand on his chest and stroked, and he felt pleasure flowing down his spine, real pleasure, real feeling.

The other sensation wasn’t gone… not yet, but it was muted. His cock was still alive and straining, twitching up against his stomach. He pushed Cas’s hand down, until it he touched the head of Dean’s cock with his palm. Dean cried out, it was so much, _so much_ , but good, _real_.

It made it all worth it to be there, to have a purpose.

He sobbed.

“Should I stop?” Cas asked between breaths.

“Never!”

Cas was on him then, gently lifting his legs, widening his knees and his back bowed and his stomach tightened in response.

Cas was between his knees, leaning over, reverently stroking his cock, pressing kisses to the inside of his thighs.

“It helps, oh god, it helps, don’t stop.”

“I’ve got you Dean, I’m not letting you go.”

“Sammy, don’t go either, don’t.”

It was the most he’d spoken in days, and he was begging, needy and broken open.

Sam crouched beside him, flung his face to Dean’s neck where he could feel the scratchy unshaven skin.

“Cas has you, Cas is real, can you tell? Look at him, see it, really see it. This is real Dean, we’re real.”

“Can it be over, is it over? Please, please, fill me up, please make it be over.”

“How the fuck didn’t we think of this before?” Sam hissed.

Cas laughed. Dean groaned, arching his hips towards the rumbling sound that made him want to come right there and then. _Need need need._ It was so much, overwhelming, and nowhere near enough.

“How would we have thought this would help?”

“Maybe because it's the most obvious thing in the world?”

“Stop, stop talking, do it, fuck me, need it, please. Now!”

Sam straddled his waist and his weight was a balm, and a tease, and a his scent was loud and wild. He ground his hips against Dean’s erection and Dean clenched his teeth, yelling.

He didn’t have to ask twice and with a touch from Cas Sam was ready, open and slick, and he sank onto Dean’s cock in one smooth glide. Silky hot, tight, _alive_. Dean came more attuned, more aware with every inch, and his cock tried to give out the fight.

“Not yet,” Cas growled, “you need to work for this.”

He’d been coming untouched for days and days, a fountain of come spewing forth by the bucket (God he hoped it wasn't bucket loads) and yet it had never felt like this. Never so true, and the buzz under his skin was lessening, lessening.

Cas gripped his balls and drew him back from the edge. The real edge! And widened Dean’s legs, filling him with lubed up grace with a nudge of his index finger. And then Dean felt a cock brush up against his crack, nudging his hole.

Cas's cock. The best cock in all the universe and he was about to feel it all the way in. His whole universe contained within the cleft of his ass.

Cas worked his way in, inch by inch, until Dean was full up, and buried deep in Sam at the same time.

They worked him languidly until he came with a shout that echoed down the hallways.

 

* * *

 

He awoke hazily, sluggish and buzzing, skin prickling. Nerves singing.

He groaned.

Nothing had stopped it yet, they could only stem the tide, but the highs got less and the reprieve got longer, so they kept coming and coming.

“Again, guys, need you.” he said, hoarsely, swallowed dry-mouthed and scratchy.

They were there, always there, and they had him.

“Can’t get enough of us now can you?”

He couldn’t, he was lit up like a Christmas tree and someone needed to make the bulbs burst.

“Gonna need us all the time? Gonna make us stay here forever?”

“Want to lounge around in bed all day, writhe for us in bliss like a porn star?”

“So needy, can’t even keep your eyes open, couldn’t stop moaning if you tried.”

“Fuckers,” he muttered. Teasing him, goading him, making him work for it. Dragging it out, making his nerves begin to notice what was real and what wasn’t.

He was sweating, rolling with it, and he had never sweated before. Well, he had obviously, but not because of Michael. Not through all of the times he’d come from just _existing_ like it was all a lie and only they knew how to make it real.

Sam had him up against his chest, and Cas was crawling up between his legs, and they worked him open breaking down the walls piece by piece. There was a cock in his ass, filling him to the hilt, grazing his prostate with blunt short thrusts.

He didn’t even know whose it was, but it didn’t matter, because before long there was another. Two cocks, his one clenching hole, four hands to hold him steady. He was lost in it, but he was found in it.

They took long dragging pauses, one hand each around his cock, stoking and tugging until he couldn’t breathe.

Who needed to breathe when there was an orgasm about to drown out everything else?

He could heal like this, just like this, forced into reality by the stretch and the ache and noise and closeness.

He’d learn what felt right, what was true, and he didn’t care how many times they had to teach him.

In fact he started to hope he was a very difficult student.

**Author's Note:**

> This might be my favourite ridiculous thing that I've ever come up with
> 
> However, it is nearing the end of this mad month and my grip on reality is skewing wildly towards nonsense. Thoughts? Opinions? Essays about the wonderful orgasms Dean experienced? :'D


End file.
